


Adoration (noun)

by crossroadswrite



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character Study, Fluff, M/M, POV Victor Nikiforov, POV Viktor Nikiforov, Slow Build, basically all these headcanons and theories about Viktor got me all kinds of fucked up so have this, in like a really understated introspective way, its still me i mean, kinda a lil, post 1x03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 15:22:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8377228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadswrite/pseuds/crossroadswrite
Summary: Viktor is no stranger to being adored. He’s used to gasps of awe, to blushing faces and shaking hands offering him pieces of paper to sign and phones to take pictures with; he’s used to proclamations of love accompanied by sweets, works of art to his image, and thoughtful gifts, all of it like offerings in a temple.He’s used to it, and even though he revels in the attention and validation of all the work he’s put into his career, he’s bored.





	

**Author's Note:**

> first of all, huge shout out to [LadyDrace](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/works) and [my friend over on the tumbls](http://hello-imamess.tumblr.com). you're both stars and I love you, thank you for betaeing this for me.
> 
> second of all, yes hello, my name is rita and this is my first victuuri fic, please accept this humble trash as i try to figure out how the heck you characterization these two ice skating gays, thank you

_Adoration (noun):_

the act of paying honor, as to a divine being; worship

 

Viktor is no stranger to being adored. Anyone with half-decent ice skating knowledge adores him, other ice skaters adore him, the judges adore him, other coaches adore him.

He’s used to gasps of awe, to blushing faces and shaking hands offering him pieces of paper to sign and phones to take pictures with; he’s used to proclamations of love accompanied by sweets, works of art to his image, and thoughtful gifts, all of it like offerings in a temple.

He’s _used_ to it, and even though he revels in the attention and validation of all the work he’s put into his career, he’s bored.

He’s bored with the people and the judges and the coaches. He’s bored with the not-quite as real wonderstruck awes, he’s bored of hearing _just as expected of him_. He’s bored, his audience is bored, the routine of training and winning training and winning training and winning is boring.

Yakov has been on edge as he trains for the new season. He knows better than anyone that there’s nothing more unpredictable than Viktor when he’s bored, to a point where Viktor himself doesn’t know what his next move will be, how he’ll act out, until he’s in the middle of it.

He never expected the middle of it to be Hasetsu, Kyushu, Japan. But then again, he never expected to find inspiration in someone like Yuuri Katsuki, who is soft to a point of being moldable, who blushes and trips over his words, who has stuttering confidence and is quick to cry, easy to break.

For someone who is built larger than Viktor is, Yuuri Katsuki looks like a soft breeze could knock him down with the right choice words, and yet-

Yet, he’s surprising, his movements on the ice improbable and awe-inspiring, he’s beautiful in a simple, arresting way.

He’s adoring, of the ice and Viktor.

It shows on his face, the sinuous arcs of his arms, the quivering in his knees when he lands a jump in Viktor’s routine, giving it all the emotion Viktor somehow lacked in his last performance.

It’s been too long since he was naïve enough to pull his routine like Yuuri did, so it’s only natural he’s interested. It’s only natural he wants to dig into the most inner core of what makes Yuuri Katsuki, and play around until there’s nothing left to be discovered, until what makes him so arresting is broken down into tiny factual pieces and Viktor can move on.

Becoming Yuuri’s coach is the next logical step, and the easiest one.

Yuuri is eager in his adoration for him, and by the telltale way his eyes dipped below Viktor’s waist when he introduced himself, giving him the confidence he needs not to choke up on competitions is a straight, easy path.

After all, there’s nothing that makes you stand a little taller than someone you admire to the point of blind adoration wanting you.

 

 

_Adoration (noun):_

reverent homage

 

He expects his methods of encouraging Yuuri to have more confidence in himself to go well, but he never expected them to result in Yuuri becoming so tactile in the most innocent way.

Viktor first notices it, when he has to climb halfway down the many steps that lead into a temple to check on him.

It’s the third time he’s making Yuuri climb these steps in a jog today. The first two times were training, this third one is because Yuuri adores him and Viktor is a petty man who is tired of sitting on a pedestal to be adored and loved in all kinds of untouchable ways.

“Enough for now?” he asks, tilting his head to watch Yuuri pant and wheeze, doubled over. He coughs and chokes a little.

Viktor pats him on the shoulder. “Yeah, that’s enough. Let’s go back.”

“No,” Yuuri wheezes out, pulling a large breath in and standing taller with it. “I can do it.”

Viktor’s hand is still on his shoulder and he can feel the tension in them, the determination setting over bone and muscle.

“I won’t disappoint you,” he promises, fierce in a way that gives Viktor pause and makes him consider the man standing in front of him.

Experimentally, he squeezes his shoulder and Yuuri’s chin raises a little, confidence and surety glinting in his eyes.

Viktor smiles, sweet and reassuring and a little dangerous. “I know you won’t.”

Yuuri nods, and as soon as Viktor takes his hand off, the other man flies up the stairs in a steady pace.

It’s paradoxically pitiful and awe-inspiring to watch how Yuuri gives himself over to him – mind, body and soul. How starving he is for approval, how he’s so set on dedicating his life to give Viktor the most reverent of offerings.

It becomes a bit like a game to him, to see what kind of touches get which results, how far is too far to go before confidence turns into nervous bashfulness.

Yuuri always delivers, flourishes under his touch, becomes soft and moldable.

That’s the problem.

Yuuri is soft. He’s soft in the way he carries himself, hesitant and careful, each day holding his chin a fraction of an inch higher under the right praise; he’s soft in his body too, in his cheeks, around the middle, his thighs, his voice, his eyes.

Yuuri is a glass boy, held together by confidence so fragile, you can see all the spots he has cracked and splintered before, you can see the brittleness of him just in the corners of his eyes and his lips.

Yuuri is soft and endearing, charming, naïve, inspiring, captivating; all qualities that trigger one of two emotions.

Protect.

Or break.

Viktor hasn’t quite decided which one he’s doing yet. He hasn’t quite decided if his… _methods_ are going to break this boy when he leaves or if they’re going to solidify him into steel and iron and brute diamond.

He thinks it’ll be good for Yuuri, thinks that the confidence that he’s giving him now would help him break hearts in the future, were Yuuri the type to want to do so.

Viktor doesn’t delude himself thinking that Yuuri’s sentiments for him go beyond the adoration he’s used to and has been showered with since he’s bled and cried on the ice and won everyone’s hearts by force.

And then Yuuri hugs him just before his performance, clutching at Viktor and seeping into himself every last bit of confidence the small touches in the past had given him, begging him to watch him, watch what he’s made for him, his offering.

His eyes are earnest and determined, his hands tremble where they’re fisted in Viktor’s jacket.

He goes on the ice and puts on a show, smirks and lures in the crowd with soft moves; soft, sultry, determined looks from under his lashes; soft, demanding arcs of his arms that beckon.

Yuuri Katsuki is awe-inspiring to watch, taking Viktor’s routine and whispering new life into it, transforming a generic love story into something personal, just for Viktor.

A captivating homage in the form of imitation.

That’s when Viktor realizes it’s already too late; it’s already been decided regardless of what he wanted the outcome to be.

He’s going to break this boy, and he’s not quite sure if he won’t chip away a little at himself in the process.

 

 

_Adoration (noun):_

fervent and devoted love

 

Viktor was wrong.

It’s not often that he admits it, and it’s even rarer that he finds himself happy to be wrong, to be so utterly, incredibly wrong.

Yuuri doesn’t break. He can’t, and now that they’re here, now that the way Yuuri looks at him is a little less blind adoration and more gentle, exasperated fondness, Viktor finally realizes it.

Yuuri was never made of glass or anything so fragile or simple or crass.

Yuuri is a galaxy in constant expansion, constant evolution, birthing stars and creating planets that fall in line with every supernova he holds beneath his skin.

He wobbles sometimes, trembles, mass shifting, stars collapsing, planets colliding, rearranging himself into his next configuration, but he never _breaks_.

He rebuilds and reshapes himself countless times, a whirlwind of beauty, and Viktor can’t escape him or the gravitational pull of the adoration in Yuuri’s eyes.

A different kind of adoration than the one he’s used to. A tangible kind, a kind that puts them on equal footing and doesn’t leave Viktor’s knuckles aching from gripping the edges of his pedestal.

The change had been gradual and stealthy, sneaking up on Viktor and surprising him, stealing his breath in a way that has become characteristic of Yuuri.

Like many other things start with them, it was a touch, simple and unassuming but all consuming anyway.

Yuuri’s hand on his cheek, thumb lightly stroking Viktor’s cheekbone as his body listed against a streetlamp, not quite drunk, but a little more than tipsy.

“You’re a mess,” Yuuri had said, like a compliment and a reprimand, a soft brush of fingers through your hair by someone who worries because they care. “I’ll take you back to your room,” he had said, and supported Viktor’s weight as they walked through the snow covered streets of Hasetsu.

It had been jarring at the time, to note how Yuuri touched him without his hands trembling finely with starstruck awe and his cheeks flushing with that ruby red of bashfulness. His hands were sure and steady, comfortable and familiar, welcome.

It had been even more jarring to realize this was normal and had been going on for a while, when he had woken up with his head pillowed on Yuuri’s thighs and Yuuri’s soft scraped palm pressed against his forehead, cold enough to alleviate the dull aching.

“You didn’t want to be alone,” Yuuri informs him, and lets his hand slip to ruffle Viktor’s hair slightly.

Viktor is helpless to do anything but stare uncomprehendingly upwards, seeing the glass that he thought made Yuuri up crack and hit the floor abruptly, a galaxy shockful of life unfolding before his eyes.

His hands had trembled at the sight of it, something itching and familiar, and he had bolted upright, searching for pen and paper, knowing what song he wanted, what story went with it, what jumps to use, what spins to flawlessly execute, the exact way he would use Yuuri’s delicate, determined figure to play out this piece.

And it had only been when he was done that he had noticed that he had drawn up a choreography for two.

That had been the linchpin, the unravelling of Yuuri Katsuki, what Viktor had so desperately tried to figure out about him since the day he had seen the wobbly video of Yuuri giving him his first offering. What he had been chasing for months, now bare before him.

He had planned to leave, in the beginning, and he now knows that’s something he had stupidly assumed as well.

He couldn’t possibly leave, not when the untapped potential still to uncover in Yuuri hummed to him like the sounds of planets turning, not when watching Yuuri breathe life into his choreographies was as breathtaking as watching constellations align, not when there were still suns and stars hidden in the crevices of Yuuri’s body that burned Viktor’s fingers when he got close, letting him know he was touching a miracle, a scientific phenomenon.

Years and years later, he’ll find out he fell in love with Yuuri first. Hard and fast and unstoppable, like chunks of space debris hurtling towards each other and being molded into something beautiful.

Years and years later Yuuri will still be soft – _so soft_ , like no man should have the right to be – and determined, he’ll still look like a galaxy, breathe nebulas, smile constellations, and make Viktor’s fingers itch for pen and paper, as Yuuri watches on, chin high, eyes open and adoring in this new way, the only way Viktor doesn’t resent when it comes to adoration.

The exact way Viktor looks at Yuuri nowadays:   _adoringly_ , with fervent and devoted love, until his knuckles ache from how he holds a pen, and Yuuri has to pull him away with the softness and quiet wonder of a space storm.

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: i sacrificed space physics for bullshitty metaphors, idk how to space
> 
>  
> 
> [i'm on the tumblrs here, crying about yoi and haikyuu](http://crossroadswrite.tumblr.com)


End file.
